Stars
by Eliza Ghost
Summary: He only wanted his son to reach the stars.  Herr Stiefel reflects on himself as a father after his son's funeral, and Moritz's death forces the others to reflect upon life for themselves. Includes the POV of 15 characters, including Moritz.
1. Stars

**A/N: Moritz's father's point of view, at the funeral. (more A/N at the bottom)**

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><p>I never intended for events to take such a cruel and sick turn in our lives. I never wanted my son to…take his own life. That Melchior Gabor, was he right? Had I been an awful father to my boy? I never meant to hurt him. I simply wanted to mold him into a better man than myself. I let him cry to turn him into a capable man who could <em>handle<em> difficulties without defeat. I wished for him to cope with the hardships of life better than I. I wanted him to be successful!

I was selfish. I was thinking only of how hard my own life was, how precious my reputation was.

My life has not been easy. My father was a cold man. He was always pushing me to reach for the stars, but I felt like the stars were burning me. He hoped too high. He was…just like I was as a father. I was never good enough for him, so I tried to push my son to accomplish great things that I had not. I saw too much of myself in him.

I try to be a good husband. It is not easy dealing with my wife's illness. How do you comfort one who is at the mercy of their own ever fickle mind? Moritz used to ask why his Mamma would suddenly go from on top of the world to the bottom of a trench. I would just run out of the room, let him cry into his sheets, let his friends wonder why his face was always stained with tears.

I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. I had to make a living, deal with my wife, try to mold my son into a better version of myself, teach Moritz to reach for those strongly burning stars.

His friends are another story. Melchior, that boy is smart. He does not let anyone get to him. He's always questioning the ways of the world, and I fear he is right about me. If only Moritz could have gained some of his determination. Melchior is strong, while I am weak. Moritz was weak. I never was there to teach him to be strong. I thought he would teach himself.

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><p>Stars are beautiful. They paint the night sky and light the way to distant lands. They burn with a bright tenacity that is envied by many. A brightness like that is so envied, yet so very unobtainable. People are so fascinated with the brightness above, they forget that there is already a world around them. I should have realized that while one can shoot for the stars, they must be taught how to get off the ground first. Moritz never had a boost. He felt alone in the night sky, and now his star is extinguished. Now everything is so dark. So dark…<p>

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><p><strong>AN: Well, I just wrote that tonight, impromptu, but I wanted to take advantage of my new ability to post stories, so yay! First posted story! Please review (though please don't flame, constructive is good, but please be nice about your feedback.). I shall try to review a story by each of my reviewers to return the kind favor. **

**Oh, yes, I hinted at Moritz's mother being bipolar. Yes, my own touch, I wanted an explanation for why his mother was never there, and to add to his dad's reasoning for his behavior. **

**I hope this was in character. I don't think he really deserves to be defended too much, but I tried to put things in a more loving perspective while still keeping him focused on himself as well. I might do more character's POV at the funeral, let me know in the comments what you think!**


	2. Pleased

**A/N: Thank you so much, Kenida! This one, in contrast, is in Thea's point of view. I wanted to do a small character who didn't interact with Moritz much, and then I remembered her repulsion when Martha said she liked him. These, I think, are going to all end up being about the narrating character as much as they are about Moritz. So, here we go, Thea after Moritz's funeral. I'm playing it as if she doesn't know about Wendla and Melchior yet (if she does, someone please correct me and I will adjust this piece.) Thanks for reading, and remember, reviews are love. **

So much has happened in so short of a time. It seems only a few days ago, I was discussing marriage with the other girls. Looking back, I feel guilty for speaking badly of Moritz when Martha announced her crush on him. Sure, he is about as far from Melchior Gabor as they come, but Martha is also far from being like me. To each their own.

Yes, Moritz may have been always half asleep, a little slow, never brushed his hair properly, and seemed younger than the other boys, but he was nice, I suppose.

In the past school term, Martha also revealed what her father does to her. It's just _awful_. I don't know what to make of it. But does her father really care so little for her? I am not convinced yet. Still, her father's abuse got me thinking, and…you know how they say opposites attract? It's a lie. _Opposites_ do _not_ attract. Opposites wouldn't have anything to do together that they both like! So I say that "great minds who think alike" ought to get married instead. I've thought that for years, I keep telling it to Ernst. Anyways, if Martha liked Moritz, they must be similar in some way, right? And…I thought of both of their fathers.

Martha is physically abused, but at least her father loves her. I think. Herr Stiefel, though. Wendla has heard things about him. She says his harshness is part of what drove Moritz to suicide. One of the boys told her a few days ago, she said. Melchior was giving Herr Stiefel this sexy death glare the whole service for what he has done. Oh! Don't tell my parents about the "sexy" part!

In a way, I suppose we are all trying to please someone. I try to please my parents, Wendla tries to please her mamma, Georg tries to please…(ugh) his piano teacher. Moritz just tried to please too many people. Melchior Gabor is such a rebel, who has not a care for pleasing anyone, but Moritz Stiefel always had to please _everyone_. I'm glad that Melchior was there for him at least. Melchi is such a good friend.

Yet…the teachers are saying that Melchior is to fault for Moritz's death. Can it be true? Could he really have written an essay so scandalous that it drove Moritz over the edge? I will not believe such things without proof. He would never do that! If he did, I'm sure he had only the best of intentions behind it. I also heard that the teachers are just _furious _with him for writing such a graphic letter…

He is _such _a bad boy!

**A/N: Well. This was nothing like I expected. The Melchior aspect was unplanned, but hey, he is the one Thea cares about, not Moritz. The next one will either be Melchior (I'm sure it's been done, but I really want to give it a shot), Georg, Fanny Gabor (was she even there?), or maybe Wendla. We'll see what my muses are in the mood for then. Remember, reviews make me happy ****J I hope you like this one, too. If you have a character request, please include it, and I'll do my best!**


	3. Despair

**A/N: This one is in Melchior's point of view, directed at our beloved Moritz.**

Moritz. My best friend. How could the world let you slip through its fingers? You were so young, Moritz. If only you had told me that you were planning this, I would have done anything, if there was anything I could have done.

I know you knew I wasn't trying to harm you with the essay. Dear God, didn't I laugh at you when you said it only made it ten times worse? I wish I could take that back now, I really wish I could. You must have thought no one believed your troubles were serious. To be honest, I hadn't realized how badly things had gotten.

Moritz, was I blind to you, too? Did I brush off every worry you presented me with? Why didn't I take you seriously, Moritz? Was I so overly involved with my own thoughts and troubles that I didn't pay notice to yours? I wish you could answer me. I feel as guilty as I did after I beat Wendla.

The teachers confronted me about the essay. I know that not passing the course had more to do with this than my essay, but they are too petty to accept any blame. None of the adults around here seem to be able to do that. Why are the children the only ones in this town capable of accepting fault? It is not the child's job to have all of the pressure. Is it not the job of the adults in our lives to guide us, help us, encourage us? I'm not saying that they are solely to blame, but they added to the problem, I know. I can tell that they _know _they've contributed, they just cannot seem to face it. Could they feel guilty, too? Is it possible that they feel so remorseful that they can't come to terms with it?

Whatever the teachers said, whatever your father told you, you did not fail. We all failed _you_, Moritz. I can only hope that you have finally found solace. I never believed in Heaven or God, but I'm starting to wish that I did. I want to know that you're OK now, that someone is actually taking care of you. I don't want to imagine you, alone in the Earth. Even if I still do not believe in it, I would be so happy to find one day that when we die, we are reunited with those we've known. For now, I'll just hope that this will not be the last time we meet.

They're shutting you away now. I'll miss you, Moritz. You do not need to feel alone anymore. We all share your grief now. I know any death is a tragic thing, but I don't think it was your time. You didn't have to die, if the community had just listened to you with open arms. Whether it was your time or not, know that you will not be forgotten. You'll live on Moritz, I promise.

**A/N: Again, impromptu, and I had no Idea what it would become. Thanks to my reviewers, and I'll have to think awhile one whose next. Martha, maybe. Again, we'll see what I feel like writing tomorrow, (I'm hoping to update by tomorrow). Thanks for reading, and remember, reviews are amazing.**


	4. Nothing

**A/N: I feel like this one's really short. It's from the female teacher's POV. I hope I didn't portray them completely stereotypically, and in my mind, she doesn't believe all of what she is saying either. Ok, enough talk, read, review, enjoy **

It's come down to this. Moritz Steifel has killed himself because of that horrendous, suggestive essay. It was written by his best friend, of all people! The poor boy would probably still be here if Gabor hadn't given the essay and drawings to him. Really, naive Steifel wasn't mature enough for it. Information such as what was provided in the essay is _not _appropriate for a child of his age to know! How will this make the school look?

Our students went behind our backs, sharing obscene information with one another, and now a boy is dead because of it! Really, the higher ups will not like this. Well, technically, Steifel was not going to be our student anymore. Also, Melchior Gabor has been sent to a reformatory instead of residing with us now. I'm glad his parents appreciate the seriousness of his actions as much as we do. This is not something to be taken lightly.

To be honest, I'm uncertain. I do not have any idea what is to become of our school, or us. We can't stand for another rebellion such as this. The other boys might be getting ideas. That Hanschen boy seem like quite a schemer, we might have to keep an eye on him. Georg spends half the day dreaming about God knows who nowadays, paying no attention in class. History repeats itself, I'm afraid. Well, it's too late for him, he does not need an essay to learn what his imagination and disgusting fantasies have already told him. Otto does not seem overly bright, he won't be much of a worry. Of course, there is zero cause for concern on behalf on Ernst. The boy is so submissive, he'll do what we tell him, as long as we can keep him under the right influences. We just have to control the boys and quell anymore catastrophic uprisings from them.

We're losing control of the children, I'm afraid. Who's to stop a child from what the feel compelled to do? Once they make up their mind, there isn't much help for them, sadly. You cannot stop what is inevitable. You can only do so much to control them. Or to help them. But if a child truly, truly, truly feels there is no other choice, what is one to do?

**A/N: I hope you all picked up that she started talking about Moritz in the end. I'm sure you guys did, I was just proud of myself for hinting at it without saying it directly. For some reason. As always, impromptu, and the next will be controlled by…spur of the moment choice. I've started Georg's, I might rewrite it though. Hope you liked it and please review!**

**PS, there's now a poll on my page for what character you want to come next. Thanks again and happy reading.**


	5. Class Clown

**A/N: As mentioned earlier, Georg is my second favorite in the show. I think I wrote Melchior's speech more old fashioned and poetic than the others, but I think Georg is the opposite. I make him talk more modernly, like they do in the songs (because all I can think of when I think about Georg is his wonderful solo in The Bitch of Living).**

**Georg's POV  
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I can't believe that Moritz Steifel is dead. Someone, a kid I knew, is lying in a coffin in front of me. I mean, I wasn't exactly _friends _with Moritz, but I've known him for years and we were at least friendly with each other. Sure, the boys in our class may have teased him a bit, but we, at least I, meant no harm by it. And honestly, he was quite naive about things, such as the "sticky dreams" that made him think he was going mad. Then again, I've known of these since soon after I started practicing with my new piano teacher.

You know what? I don't even care that I'm missing a piano lesson for this! Well, not that much.

Still, this seems so surreal, seeing this person I used to know lying silent. Truly, it's sad. Class is no where near as fun without Moritz. The teachers have all buckled down on us and our comic relief is gone. I shouldn't call a dead person that, should I? Don't get me wrong, this is terrible, but it was kind of fun seeing what troubles he and Melchior created for the teachers. It wasn't because I liked seeing _them _in trouble, I just think the teachers got what was coming to them with those two.

I'm going to miss Melchior, too, now that his parents had to transfer him to a reform school. People think that Moritz was just a shy pushover without Melchior. I think that they were wrong. Moritz was braver than he got credit for. He's always tried hard at everything (even if he happened to be awful at that thing). He probably tried more than any of us just to make it past. He just had to work harder to succeed, because his father always gave him unachievable standards, and the teachers thought he had no potential. He always had to prove himself.

I think he could have been successful. He was never mean, even when we were mean to him, and girls liked him. Obviously, Thea didn't, but Thea is…more than a little critical of everyone who is not Melchior Gabor or a girl. I can tell that Ilse and Martha had their eyes on him by the crushed looks on their faces today, though.

The teachers are on the look out for the next "rebel" and "slacker" in class. In my opinion, they'll never be replaced. Things are different now. We never respected our teacher much, being that they are the infernal givers of essays and papers, but now I can't stand them. They're the adults, but they use Melchior as their scapegoat. Why don't people believe that it's their fault Moritz didn't pass? If they were better teachers, they would've taught him better. Honestly, who cares if there's one extra kid in the class? I would hate to be that kid. If we had more boys in the class and, say, ten had to stay back, it would be different.

I think that when people die, they go to heaven, and all their dreams are fulfilled (unless they dreamt of killing someone, of course. There's a different place for them.) When I die, my wonderful piano teacher will be waiting for me….yeah, and my family too, I guess. For Moritz, people will finally stop labeling and pressuring him. Maybe he was smarter than the rest of us. No one else could escape this bitch of a living by themselves.

**A/N: Not the most beautiful thing, but I guess it's OK. More comical than the others, I suppose. Anyways, hope you guys like it and please review!**


	6. Sinking

**A/N: Ilse's POV. Ernst is coming next, I think. Then, if all goes as planned, Frau Gabor, then Hanschen (to contrast with Ernst). We'll see who comes after that. I must warn you, this one makes Ilse seem very sentimental. What's that quote this one reminds me of? Er…never mind. Something like "How could you do this to us?" one of those cliché sayings. Whatever. Anyways, enjoy reading.**

**Have I ever done a disclaimer for these? I do not own Spring Awakening or its characters. There. Tada.**

Now I know why he would not walk me home. So this was the homework he said he had? He couldn't walk me home because he had to finish himself off. How could he do this? How could he be so selfish? Couldn't he see that we all need him? Not just Melchior and I, but everyone. It's like removing a piece of the food chain. With its removal, everyone suffers.

Moritz was the pin that kept me attached to the fabric of sanity. Whenever my father would hit me, I would just think of Moritz's words when we played pirates, "that's right, Captain Ilse never gives up! She's the bravest pirate in the fleet!" Then him and I would charge towards Melchior and Wendla, wooden swords raised.

No one had ever called me brave before then.

When I ran away, the girls would gossip amongst their little groups, saying how they heard I'd gone wild, and ran away from my abusive father to become a Bohemian. The boys were not as mystified or horrified as they. Well, none except for Moritz Stiefel were. I remember when I saw him one last time, an unexpected meeting in the woods as I left, much like that fateful night. He asked me where I was going, and I said that I had to leave, I was setting sail for new lands, safer, happier lands. He hugged me awkwardly and said that if I ever needed a first mate again, he'd be waiting.

When I saw him a few nights ago in the woods, it was like I had come home. I had thought about him often, as well as my other old friends, but soon realized that I would probably never see them again. They were only memories, pictures of four children on distant play ships, little girls all with hair in braids swimming in the creek. But when I saw him…it was like seeing a ghost rise from the ground. I had thought that he was left behind, just a specter haunting me with memories of what my life used to be. Then I realized that he was not a dream, but a dream come true. Then that night turned into a nightmare.

I remember dropping my bouquet, hurt that after all that time, Moritz was no longer my first mate. I started running back towards my new home, amongst artists who treat me no better than my own father did. I was numb to the pain of running barefooted over rocks and pine needles, just wishing to run away from it all again. I suppose that that is a feeling Moritz couldn't cure, yet knew well. Then, I heard a faint "bang" in the distance. In a moment, I realized that it was not the weight of his schoolwork that kept us apart that night, nor all of the years that had pasted apart. I cannot tell you why he did it…but I wish I could.

I hate to reduce Moritz's final year to a metaphor, but it seems fitting. That's what he gets for committing to a short life of Piracy.

It's like being on a boat, you at first think that you shall sail the world, then realize what a shabby boat you have. Holes start to form, and you start to go under. You may struggle to stay above water, or just give up and sink, feeling the sharp sting of saltwater filling your lungs, your eyes tingle underwater. And then, the world darkens around you, impossible to light again.

**A/N: Ah! It annoys me that I ended on a cheesy metaphor, but arguing with my inner writer doesn't end well. I think I did a lot of metaphors in here, didn't I? Oh well. I really hope this was in character enough, I feel like I got slightly too poetic or whatever and let Ilse slip. Bur hey, that's what editing is for! So, reviews, please?**


	7. Good and Evil

**A/N: Ernst's POV**

I don't think I've ever been to a funeral before. It's unsettling, finally seeing what one is like. Death is terrifying, I'll admit that. Really, how can anyone be sure of what will happen after death? Most of us like to think that God will welcome us with open arms, but how can we be certain? Do you know how Moritz died? He committed suicide, which is a ghastly sin. But he doesn't deserve to burn in Hell does he? Moritz was a good person, but he's supposed to go to Hell for this. So many things in this world just don't make sense

Maybe the threat of Hell is just a deterrent made up in a feeble attempt to keep ones like Moritz Steifel from pulling the trigger. I hope so, because people who kill themselves, I think, aren't necessarily bad, just desperate. Out of hope.

Death is just painfully sad. Why else would we bury people than to try to separate ourselves from the pain of remembering them? It doesn't help though. We may leave them flowers, a symbol of purity and life, but even flowers wilt and decompose. As scary as death is, it's an obstacle all have to face at some point. Crossing the bridge between Earth and Heaven.

I don't think Moritz's father was horrible, as the girls whisper to each other. How can you call someone whose only child just died a horrible person? It does no good. All the children talk about how the teachers are unjustly blaming Melchior for Moritz's death, but isn't it possible that the children are unjustly blaming Heir Stiefel? I think we do this because feelings are easier to deal with when put in a tangible form.

I think we are all afraid of intangible things. The future is always unpleasantly unpredictable, as are love and loss. I do not know which scares me the most. Yet, on some level I know that all that we cherish cannot stay forever., so we try to make things last. I think we were all surprised, thinking that we would always have Moritz around, just another face we would know until we all left to go start our own lives. This whole town took him for granted, expecting him to be there to undermine forever. We assumed that he would leave after the rest of us, perpetually doomed to be unappreciated and stuck in this sad little town for eternity. Who knew that Moritz would be the first of us to leave?

**A/N: This one was actually hard to write. Ernst was hard to characterize for me. I hope you're happy with how I attempted to. This chapter kind of goes along with the quote "nothing gold can stay," I guess. The end reminds me of the Georg chapter, but with a different view, not that that's too important. Though I am afraid of becoming repetitive. Someone please warn me if I start to. Anyways, as requested, Ernst is now off my list. Frau Gabor will be next (as long as I can figure out a way to make hers different from Melchior's and the teacher's final paragraph in message). Thank you for reading, and please review!**


	8. Guilt

**A/N: Frau Gabor's POV**

Oh, dear. Moritz, I was so afraid of it coming down to this. I know you thought I turned my back to you by not sending you to America, but as I told you in my letter, even if I had the money, it still would not have fixed things. I did write your parents, but I don't know if they received it in time.

I feel as if I could have done more, but if I dwell on it too much, I…oh, it makes me feel so guilty, especially since it is far too late to change your mind.

Moritz, I hope that you knew how important you were. I am uncertain if you realized how much you meant to Melchior and I. Your father may have been harsh, but he had his reasons. That does not excuse him by any means, but he did love you. He never wanted you to kill yourself, none of us did. He just pushed you too far to succeed, but the other adults just wished you happiness.

The other children are not the only ones who feel broken. The parents in the town are devastated as well. We all got used to the little, messy-haired boy running around our yards playing games with our own children. We try to care for all of the children, for Heaven knows there are a good many who don't get enough care at home.

You may not have had the school's support, but they didn't see how complex you were. Melchior told me what happened when you quoted Virgil incorrectly. You tried so hard, it was unjust how they treated you. You were probably the most diligent worker they had, but they weren't smart enough to see your worth. There were so many good things about you, I just hope you didn't do this because you were upset with _yourself_.

I try to work this out in my mind. Did you feel defeated by the world? Alone and deserted, without encouragement and guidance? Or something else entirely? Melchior told me that Ilse was the last to see you. He thought Ilse could have done something, if only she knew what you were planning, but I told him that your mind was set. There was no turning back at that point, was there? Was there anything else in our power to do?

And what if Melchior was right, and someone could have saved you?

Too many what ifs can break a soul.

**A/N: Eh. Not my favorite. I'm looking forward to doing Hanschen. I think he'll be easier, my only worry with him is making him too critical. I kind of want to make him mean about it, as opposed to everyone else, but at the same time, I don't think I should. Don't get me wrong, Hanschen is awesome. Anyways. Hope you enjoy and please review!**


	9. Weak

**A/N: I'm going to go with my gut (and reviewer****) and make Hanschen show the meaner side of this. I've been wanting to do this for a while. And obviously, I do not agree with anything I make Hanschen say. But here it is, Hanschen's POV**

Weak. That's what you were, Stiefel, too weak to survive. It's survival of the fittest here, I hate to tell you. Sorry you couldn't keep up.

You were the weakest link, for sure. Couldn't handle the pressure, couldn't handle something as simple as school. Honestly, it's not as hard as you thought, just write what they tell you to write, learn what they tell you to learn. You can either cruise your way through, such as Otto, Georg, and Ernst, or you can show them that you're above the rest. Unfortunately, falling asleep in class and failing at something as easy as reciting Virgil is less than impressive.

Everyone at your funeral is weeping, trying to shed guilt by saying there was nothing they could do, that nobody knew how bad off you were, that it was too late to change your mind. At the same time, I can tell that they are all blaming themselves, trying to be super heroes who can save everyone in the village. But it doesn't work that way.

Personally, I don't want you to be dead, but it _is _technically your fault. No great tragic accident here, my friend. Did you just want to escape the pressure? If you were depressed and wanted _help_, you could have warned someone! How do you expect anyone to intervene if you just keep to yourself? I suppose you did want to die, instead of get help, since you shot yourself before anyone stepped in.

To be honest, though, despite how I treated you…I didn't hate you. I mean, there are worse people out there. I suppose weakness isn't as bad as, say, evil. Evil just prevails over weakness. So I stride for greatness! But, this is not about me. This is about you, a pathetic and weak, yet (I admit it) decent and nice kid.

I wonder…did it…hurt? Or was it too fast too feel anything? There's already enough pain here, wouldn't you agree?

Moritz, let me tell you something. Life is hard. In fact, that's one of the facts of life. You have to make with it what you can.

**A/N: was that an OK cut off place? I dunno. Anyways, there's the mean yet (hopefully) not evil Hanschen chapter. I hope I got him in character.**

**Oh, and Wendla is indeed coming in soon. I'm saving Moritz's mother till one of the last chapters, along with a possible second chapter from his dad. The last chapter will either be by Moritz or his father, whichever I see fit at the time. Don't worry though, that's a while off. I still have Anna, Martha, and Otto to do first. **

**Hope you're enjoying Stars, and please review!**


	10. Heart

**A/N: Martha's POV. I know, I said Wendla was next, but I felt like doing Martha's instead today. So, here's Martha's take on his death:**

"Moritz Stiefel is dead, Martha, he…"

My heart stopped. I don't even know if I listened to anything Anna said after that. I was crying too hard, trying to catch my breathe, but I could not.

I feel like my heart is broken. I didn't know what to do. In that moment, I did not care if Moritz ever returned my affection, or if we ever got married, as I had always dreamed. I just wanted to be with him, wanted him to still be here. I wanted to hug him and tell him how much he meant. That he was wonderful, so sweet, and soulful beyond his years, sensitive, and intense, and complex, and caring. That I don't want to lose him. It doesn't matter if I have a crush on him, or if he was oblivious to it all, I'm just going to miss _him. Seeing that smile of his, his adorable _unruly hair, his uneven socks.

I want to tell him that he didn't have to do this. It could have gotten better. Things can always get better. Things always get worse before they get better, I don't know. Something to give him hope.

I wish I could have healed his aching soul. He needed someone, whether it was me or not. He needed someone who understood what he felt. I feel like saying "I knew what he felt! I feel the same way everyday!" But, I can't. I didn't. Nobody can tell how anyone else really feels. I can at least relate that much.

Everyone knows that Moritz tried to be a people pleaser. I know what it's like to be so preoccupied with the outside world. But I know more than that what it's like to have to keep your sadness to yourself, even when you want help more than anything else in the world. Being so afraid of what everyone else thinks or will think of you. I know what it's like to just want to escape.

I don't know how anything can keep going on. Part of me thinks that things will be the same as they were, part of my screams that nothing can go on as it was. I want to be mad at him for doing it, but I also want to hug him for thinking he needed to. I want to curl up in a ball and cry, but I also just want to keep going, move to a point where it doesn't hurt so much. I don't know what to do…

Moritz…

I'll miss you.

**A/N: wow. shortest one yet. That's sad_._ Hope it's still good, though.**_  
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	11. Comfort

**A/N: Wendla's POV**

"Melchior, everything will be alright," I try to comfort him, stroking his wavy brown hair. We've just received word that Moritz is gone. He wraps his arms more tightly around me.

"How can you know, Wendla?" He asks desperately.

"You just have to trust me, Melchi. Things will be alright. Things have to turn out alright." I hope that I'm right. I want to believe my words, and I think I do, yet I'm afraid of what will happen while things are _getting_ better. I fear that this is a sign of what is to come…things must be getting worse around here for Moritz to do this. I hope that all of the bad things are contained to just Moritz, but I'm afraid that they are infectious, communal.

"Things have to get worse before they can get better," I tell him.

He takes a deep breath and looks at me. "Why did things have to get this bad?"

"I can't answer you that, Melchior. I just don't know." I think he means so many things at once, this insightful boy. He doesn't just mean how bad things got for Moritz, he can tell that things are changing for good. Things are crumbling around us, and there is no way to go back to the old ways.

We are getting older, as much as our mamas and fathers try to deny it. In a way, our own history is repeating itself. When we were small children, the boys and girls played together all of the time. Why, Ilse and I used to play with Melchior and Moritz nearly every afternoon. Then, our parents separated us for reasons we couldn't understand, and we grew apart. We grew up, grew into ourselves, became the blueprints for our future. Now we are coming together again, learning what our old playmates have become.

It makes me sad that I don't know the Moritz that Melchior is weeping over. I knew the old Moritz, the shy little boy who Ilse and I put in dresses and combed the uncontrollable hair of. I don't know if he changed too much from that small boy. I think he just became a more solid, final version. Everything about him intensified, and Melchior's mother says that he was a _very _intense child. The poor thing was always so nervous, everyone knew. I would just pass him in the street, and you could tell he was on edge from a moments glance. That was one thing about him; the intensity, the nervousness, it was unlimited. Melchi says that fear came to dominate his life. He was afraid of some nightmare he had, afraid of school, afraid of his father. It must have been awful, to be so constantly fearful.

Melchior has stopped talking for the moment. He's just shaking his head, wiping his face. He lets go of me and runs his pale hand through his hair, and for a moment, I almost grabbed him back. Then I remembered my parents, how they warn me about boys, to leave them alone. But, it felt so good in that moment, so pure. In each other's arms, it was as if we were one person. I've never felt so connected to anyone. Right now, I don't care what our mamas would think; we need each other. Comfort is different from whatever it is that Mama doesn't want us to have.

I feel almost like I did that day when I asked Melchior to beat me with a branch. I wonder what it is like to lose your closest friend, and…I can't imagine losing him.

**A/N: Well? Whaddya think? Please let me know in a review. I've finally broken the pattern of doing boy, girl, boy, girl ordered chapters. So, uh…yay? Yeah, so now I don't know who will come next. We'll see. Review, please!**


	12. Dream

**A/N: I know I still have 3 or 4 chapters, left, but I'm already feeling sad about nearing the end! Oh, I'll have to do another SA fic soon. You know what? I was watching Jonathan and Lea's last performance of Left Behind, and when Georg came on, he looked up, and waved goodbye to Moritz…for some reason it made me want to cry. And I never cry at videos. It's just so sad! Well, enough sadness (I don't do sadness, so been there…OK, enough of that as well.) Here's Otto's point of view.**

I squirm around in my too-small suit and my worn out shoes borrowed from my father, which are becoming caked with mud. The ground is soggy, saturated with morning rain. I nervously look around as I come to the grave, looking for a familiar face to stand by. Ah, there she is, Marianna Whelan. She looks like a dream today. Although, Anna always looks like a dream. She's wearing a simple brown frock today, but it looks so perfect on her delicate frame. Her cheeks are the color of classic red roses, her lips the color of the evening sky at sunset. She's just so beautiful, yet I am-so incredibly wrong for her. If she were ever to return my affection, the day would become just as much of a dream as she is. I don't know what I posses that would ever…I know that my fantasies are nothing more than just that.

I make my way over to the unobtainable goddess that is Anna, my palms sweating. I nod my greeting to her. The funeral has not yet begun, and people are still arriving. There aren't very many mourners here. I've been to a few funerals; one for my Nan, another for my uncle, and compared to this, they were the epitome of formal, planned, stiff. I can understand why, though. The poor Stiefel family only received the awful blow a few days ago, with seemingly no warning. Often, I've imagine my future, as a husband and father, hopefully to Anna, but I know that it may not be. Never once before have I imagined the day my child dies. I know, I'm barely fifteen, and have no ambition of children for several years, but even still, it's…it's an _incomprehensible _thought. I'm sure no amount of imagining can even bare resemblance to the actual feeling.

I'm breaking my own heart with these thoughts of losing and of never having who I love.

The service seems to be starting, but I'm baffled. I look around, and I am surrounded by children my age. Boys all in navy uniforms and neatly styled hair, girls all in mismatch. Of course, there is also Herr Stiefel. I almost speak out, for surely this can't be everyone. What about Moritz's _mother_? What sort of mother doesn't come to their own child's funeral? Every mother I know would die of grief and weep for days, but I'm sure they would come. I've…actually never _met _Frau Stiefel, but I know she is alive still. Melchior has met her, and Moritz talked about her besides. They say that she's unwell. Well or unwell, I'm still surprised. At least Frau Gabor is here to take her place. Moritz spent so much time with the Gabors, it was almost as if he belonged to them instead. Or wished to.

Everyone is walking up to the grave, where they have these little white flowers on long stems to be dropped in. I watch as others go before me, and try to prepare for my turn. It's a hard task, but I go anyways.

I walk up a little too quickly and immediately regret my fast pace. It seemed improper. I don't care about being proper, normally, but I feel compelled to here, where nothing is right or proper. Not even the cause. I pick up my flower stem and look at Herr Stiefel, and this rushing sense hits me. I finally get my head ripped out of the clouds at this moment and realize what I'm doing here. Moritz, he's-he's _dead_. It didn't hit me until this moment. He's _gone_. My eyes are unexpectedly filling up. Oh, God. Moritz is _dead_! How could I walk so calmly over to this cemetery and think of Anna like nothing was wrong?

I glance at Melchior out of the corner of my eye. He looks practically crushed. Finally, I unwrap my fingers and let my flower drop into the grave, and I look at Moritz, no _really _look at him one lat time. I pause, then solemnly walk away, joining the ranks of mournful school boys and teary eyed girls, soon to be women and men. And then gone, leaving all of this behind. And I realize now, Moritz is gone, we will all be gone. Life is not unending.

Tomorrow…I think I'll finally tell Anna how I feel.

**A/N: SO? I must say, I thought this one was going to end up badly, but I'm actually really happy with it! One of my favorites. And I hope I phrased the end well enough that you could tell it was one of those "life is too short" moments. What did you guys think? Please let me know (which reminds me, think you to all who have reviewed, favorited, or put on update, especially Kenida. My first reviewer and first to put this on favorites). Well, Anna's will be next, and remember to review!**** Thank you and happy reading,**

**-Eliza.**

**PS; thank you to "r" for catching my mistake with Frau Gabor. I had never noticed when watching Left Behind that she actually was there. And you made me realize that. So thanks, I've fixed that line.  
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	13. Belong

**A/N: To r; No! I had never seen her in left behind, but as I watched it just now, she's there. Thanks for pointing that out, I'll fix it. Anyways, here's Anna's chapter. And yes, I used the video of Left Behind where Georg almost made me cry on this one. Now Ilse's flower drop is making me sad, the way she looks at Moritz's father. **

I didn't think I should attend Moritz Stiefel's funeral, but Mama insisted that I should. So here I am now; standing in the cold and mud. It's so foggy and dark this morning, it's quite a suitable setting for a funeral. "The earth is caked with mud and dew, as if the world itself had been weeping for him." Yes, that's a good line. I should use that. I'm going to a be a writer, in case you didn't know. And this place…it sends off an aura that is too perfectly awful to just lock away in a box of memories. It's so perfectly depressing and fitting, it was almost as if this whole day had been planned by some magnificent writer, each aspect from the dew to the placement of Melchior's angry, mournful eyes against Herr Stiefel's cold, stony gray ones carefully fretted over, each word chosen carefully to give it just the right effect.

Truly, it is a woeful day. I think Melchior may be the saddest of them all. They say that misery loves company, but what is sadder than misery caused by lost company? It's just a terrible day for the Gabors, I'm sure, and of course The Stiefels, too.

I don't belong here. I look around and see mourning faces, tears taking quiet strolls down pale, cold cheeks. I never cared for Moritz much in life, and I feel almost guilty standing amongst these true mourners while I feel no misery. I never cared for Moritz, couldn't understand why Martha ever fancied him. I don't belong with these school boys, his father, nor even with Ilse or Martha. They, who cared so much for that skittish boy, have lost something. I, who never gave him a moment's attention, should not be marring all of the genuine feelings of loss here.

Thea shouldn't be here either, in my opinion. She rather strongly disliked Stiefel, yet she is here, staring mindlessly at Melchior with longing eyes. It's disgusting. Poor Melchior has just lost his best friend, who was like a brother to him, but does she care about that? No. She just cares about this wavy hair and how the teachers are after him "for being such a rebel." Wendla, who hadn't talked to Moritz in years, is at least considering Melchior's lost and showing some respect.

On the other hand, as I watch the boys, I am surprised. With all of the teasing I've heard they inflicted upon Moritz, they all appear very much grief stricken. Even Hanschen looks shaken. It's heart breaking and heartwarming all at once. It's comforting in a way to see these people who actually cared for him, yet it's also sad that Moritz couldn't see it himself.

I watch as Georg goes up for his flower, head tilting towards the heaven, as if he's asking why this had to happen, or maybe looking up to where Moritz has found peace at last, and then he looks back down and solemnly waves goodbye. I start to cry at this point, inhaling all of the grief floating on the wind.

When I went up for my flower, I gently grabbed the stem in my fingers, thinking about it's delicacy. It would be so easily crushed and torn apart. When you bury a flower, though, new flowers sprout up, and the old flower is soon forgotten. A whole garden can sprout from one planting. Flowers will bloom and flowers will wilt, and people may never notice the difference. It's tragically beautiful. Or perhaps beautifully tragic…

**A/N: Well, there you are. Anna's take on the funeral. I know, she doesn't actually talk about Moritz much, but feel free to take the last part about flowers as a metaphor for either life or Moritz's life. What do you think of this chapter? Let me know, and Frau Stiefel will be next.**


	14. Final

**A/N: Thank you all my reviewers! I'm afraid Stars is nearing an end, there may be only one chapter next. Don't worry, I plan on doing another Spring Awakening Story once I think of a plot. **

**Well, here you are; Frau Stiefel's POV:**

I'm going to do it. I can't take it anymore, this has gone on too long. I want to wake up from this nightmare or find myself falling fast asleep into sweeter dreams.

I walk hastily out of the bedroom, and then realize that there is no hurry. I have all the time in the world before I end mine. Instead, I slow down and take in every detail of our house; the grain of the window sill, the cranberry red of the carpet, the photograph of Christian and I, Moritz at our feet. I stare blankly at the picture before continuing my waltz to the study.

I slowly approach the safe, gradually turning the knob to each number. "32, 16, 20" This is the last time I'm going to do this. This is it. I'm going to retrieve the gun from the safe, and finally pull the trigger after all these years.

I peel back the heavy metal door and peer inside. It's too dark to see the contents, so I reach in, padding down several files and documents of Christian's. What is this…there is no gun. I sweep my palm across the metal once more, just to be sure. No. Gun. Then something occurs to me.

"Christian," I say, bustling into the day room, "where is your gun?" He looks startled at this, and slightly heartbroken. He asks what I need it for, his voice silently begging me not to do what we both know I intended to. Then he starts to get angry.

"I've spent twenty years of my life providing for you and the boy, doing everything I could, expending myself to the limits. There's just nothing more I can do, is there? Your life with Moritz and I is so awful that you cannot even stand living it? Am I so awful for this family that my own wife and son can't stand me? Now Moritz has collapsed like you. Everything is falling apart, and God help me, I've worked so hard to prevent this. But if there truly is nothing left for you, then I swear, I will do everything in my power to make things better for Moritz. I won't fail him again."

I shake my head. "You don't understand, your gun, it isn't there!"

He sighs, his eyes desperately pleading and full of sorrow. "What does it matter? You want to leave, then Earth was not meant for you. I love you, I'll-"

"Your gun isn't here!" I shout, filling the room with my worried voice. Now, at least, I've gotten his attention. "And Moritz, where is he?"

There is a pause, and then his eyes meet mine, full of panic and even more desperation. His hands are shaking with terror, realizing the weight of what I've said. "Dear God!"

The gun is gone. Moritz is gone. Christian didn't move the gun and does not know where our son is.

"Stay here," my husband commands, putting on a coat and swirling out the door.

I run to the window and watch him leave_. I_ was supposed to be the one leaving the house tonight. I was going to finish the job in the woods…_the woods_. I throw on a pair of flats and run for dear life into the forest.

I do not know where I am going, but something inside me is guiding me, urging me onward. As I run, I hear a very familiar sound, one I have imagined and rehearsed in my mind countless times; a gunshot.

Oh, no. Oh, for heaven's sake, please, please, no. I want to collapse, to close down and cry right here, but I push myself onwards. Moritz might need me. It may not be over.

I hate myself for being too caught up in my own misery, for not noticing him. I'm getting ahead of myself, for I was right. I haven't noticed anything. Maybe he's alright. It may not be over, I just have to keep believing so. The irony is not lost on me. It wasn't supposed to be my sweet Moritz, it was supposed to be _me. It was not supposed to be him._

At last, my longest nightmare is confirmed. I see my child, silent, motionless. Please…no. Let the earlier nightmare continue, let me wake up. Let him wake up. Please, take this awful dream away from me. Wake up, please, son. Moritz!

My world has ended today after all.


	15. Empty

**A/N: I hope I will add another chapter to this, but it's indefinite. If any of you are confused about the title, it refers to both Moritz's life and inkwell by the end of this, which I was going to say in the end, but it felt unnatural to do so. Anyways, here's Moritz's chapter (which was surprisingly hard to write, considering none of it is from personal experience. So don't even ask about that, haha. Saw that happen on a FP story once.) I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review, I'd love to hear your thoughts.**

My ink well is running dry. I cannot for the life of me figure out what to write.

_To whom it concerns, _

I can't do that, it is too formal.

_To whoever finds this_,

There. That's a bit better.

_To whoever finds this,_

_The_

What do I say? I'll die of old age before I come up with the content.

Frustrated, I run my shaking hand through my hair, and it stays there, caught in the tall curls that I cannot fix. I think my hair may honestly start falling out with all of this stress. Maybe I won't do go through with it after all. No, I'm definitely going to do it. I think I'm definitely going to. I've already discovered the combination for my father's safe. I plan on getting the gun tonight. Tomorrow. Maybe in a few days. No, definitely tonight.

This is so difficult. I cannot decide if I want to go through with it, nor when to steal the gun, nor even what to write in my goodbye. I am an utter failure.

Maybe I won't leave a note. No, no I should. I hate to! I can't simply depart with no explanation. Part of me says that of course I can, it must happen all of the time.

Maybe it would be easier if I narrowed down the recipient of the letter, perhaps put it in my parents room just before I leave for the woods. If I wrote it solely for my mother, it would hold no power other than perhaps sending her over the edge. She is so absorbed in her own life, she might take no notice of it at all. I cannot, _cannot _write it to my father. I am already disgrace enough to him, and I refuse to let the last materialistic scrap of me disgrace him any further. I'll just write it to the two of them together.

_Dear Mother and Father, _

_I regret to inform you_

No. It's so wrong already and I've barely begun! I should think this through. What exactly had I wanted to include? Was I just going to say that I couldn't stand it anymore, and I was taking my own life? Well then, maybe there is nothing more to say.

_Dear Mother and Father,_

_Life has become so complicated. There is so much pressure and I've been having these dreams…it all hangs over me like a darkened rain cloud. I just cannot face it anymore. I'm so sorry that this had to happen._

_Regretfully yours,_

_Moritz Stiefel. _

Well, it was a good start. I read it over to see if it reads the way I want it to come across. "I'm so sorry that this had to happen." I waiver when I read this. Am I sorry? I think for a long moment. Yes, I am sorry. But not to my parents.

I dip my stylus in my inkwell and try another direction.

_Dear Melchior,_

_My one true friend. I'm writing this to tell you goodbye. Life has become so bleak, and there is no way out. No, there is a way out, but only one. I have to get out of here, Melchior. I can't…I can't live like this any longer. I don't think I have a choice. _

_I don't want you to feel sorry for me, Melchi. I know that you will miss me, and I thank you, friend. If not for you, I think my life might pass by unnoticed like a shadow. Please, do not feel guilty. That letter you wrote, it…it's not because of you, you were not the one who dictated the ways of…human…anatomy. _

_It's daunting, Melchior. Life. Truly, it is more daunting than it should be. I don't know why cruel fate has chosen me as its victim, but the struggles I face seem to normal people no more consequential or terrifying than riding a bike, so it's me, just me. I am so alone. You've kept me company all these years, but a boy needs to find himself to become a man, and it appears that I am too incompetent to pass school, let alone accomplish that._

_Oh, and Melchior-take care of your mother. You don't realize how lucky you are to have her._

…_I know you don't hold yourself as a religious man, but I hope that one day I will see you again. If not, death may be just as bleak and lonely as life._

_I'll miss you always,_

_Moritz Stiefel._


End file.
